


and I won't ever be the same

by wreckthatnecklace (therestisdetail)



Category: RuPaul's Drag Race RPF
Genre: 1920s ballroom murder mystery, F/F, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-19
Updated: 2019-06-02
Packaged: 2020-03-07 19:01:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 12,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18879304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/therestisdetail/pseuds/wreckthatnecklace
Summary: "And you didn't see him, that afternoon?""I didn't." Brooke says. "I was waiting stage left like a fool, until we all realised.""Did you kill him?" Vanessa says, outright."No," Brooke says back. "Ma'am, I did not kill him. Are we done? I have a performance tonight.""Good luck with that," Vanessa tells her, and leaves.[1920's cop and ballroom au]





	1. it's a motherfucker, being here without you

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pinkgrapefruit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinkgrapefruit/gifts).



 

  
About ten years ago, Vanessa read a headline about Alice Stebbins Wells, and maybe that's how all this started. Maybe it started when she was first sworn in to the force, in a uniform she had to sew herself because while she wasn't the first, it still wasn't usual, or normal. Maybe it all started when the dancer at the competition died, and everyone looked at her, because everyone knows girls can dance, right?  
  
It might have started a whole lot of places, Vanessa doesn't know where exactly.  
  
It probably started a long time before that, when she was a kid, and she realised that she just wasn't ever going to accept hearing "no" from anyone, not without a fight.  
  
Probably then.

  
  
*

  
  
  
It's usually the wife, or the husband. That's practically the first thing they teach you. And Vanessa doesn't know a  lot about this world of stages and twirling around in heels, but she knows that whether it's a drunken foxtrot or you're playing proper like Arthur Murray taught it, your partner is often a whole lot more than just a colleague.  
  
A man is dead, it's Vanessa's case, and his dance partner is answering questions half undressed and like she cannot wait to get this over with and back to her eyeliner.  
  
That's what makes Vanessa hesitate, honestly. People smart enough to do this neatly are usually smart enough to at least play at sad. Brooke might be or might not be sad, but she's all cold steel dressed up in silk and tulle and she's not about to let anyone know either way. Maybe just a little tired, that's all Vanessa can clock her for.  
  
"And you didn't see him, that afternoon?"  
  
"I didn't." Brooke says. "I was waiting stage left like a fool, until we all realised."  
  
"Did you kill him?" Vanessa says, outright.  
  
"No," Brooke says back. "Ma'am, I did not kill him. Are we done? I have a performance tonight."  
  
"Good luck with that," Vanessa tells her, and leaves.

  
  
*

  
  
  
"If I could get in quiet-" Vanessa suggests, a bit hesitant. "See how things play out, a bit?" Shuga looks over at her, eyebrow raised. As the boss, she has to balance concerns. It's a dance tournament, not something serious, but then - well, a man is dead.  
  
"Undercover?"  
  
"I don't dance proper," Vanessa says quickly, "but I'm not _bad_ , and I don't need to stay too long." She's a little mad these are the only cases she gets, but that doesn't mean she doesn't care, or want to do well.  
  
"What do you think about the partner?" Shuga asks, "I - she's interesting."  
  
"Prime suspect," Vanessa agrees confidently, "yeah, didn't do it."  
  
"Oh?"  
  
"Nah," Vanessa says, "I'll put money on it."  
  
"You'll be putting more than money on it," Shuga says sternly. "She knows who you are now, so if we want you in, she's the way we do it. You feel safe with that?"  
  
Vanessa pulls out a twenty, slams it down just for show and smiles. "Let's go."

  
*

 

  
  
"I know it sounds crazy," Vanessa says, making her offer in plain clothes and cornering Brooke one last time. "But I am very, very good at making crazy work. If you can help me get in-"  
  
"Girls train for years for this," Brooke says, "We earn our place here. How do you think this is going to go?"  
  
"I don't know," Vanessa says hushed. "I don't need to look good, I just need to be here, just for a bit, I-"  
  
There's some sort of call that rings through the dressing rooms, a bell going. Brooke looks Vanessa up and down, once, then grabs her by the arm and drags her with her out onto the competition floor where they seem to be taking names, all in a line.  
  
"Brooke," one of the judges says, real soft. "If you need a few more days-"  
  
"I don't," Brooke says calm. "Thank you, Nina. I'm fine."  
  
"Okay," one of the other judges says, pretty and bored in equal measures. "Do you have a replacement for S-"  
  
Brooke cuts her off, before she can say the name out loud. "No one replaces him." She says, every syllable frozen solid. "And if he isn't leading me, then with all due respect to everyone else - and that is only the respect that is due - then no one fucking is. We got here together and I am finishing it as he would have, leading like he would."  
  
She reaches out, puts her arm around Vanessa. "And I have found the girl I want to dance to the finish with. Where do I sign her up?"  
  
Everyone is staring, and Vanessa can barely breathe.  
  
"There isn't a rule against it," Nina says, breaking the silence. Authoritative, but gentle at the same time. "Trust me, I know all of them."  
  
"Good," Brooke says, extremely politely. "Thank you."  
  
She leads Vanessa out, and Vanessa waits until they're mostly alone to ask, very seriously, what the fuck just happened.  
  
"You said you wanted in," Brooke says, her hands reassuring on Vanessa's shoulders. "You're in. And for as long as you need I will find some fucking way to make us both look good. But you need to find out whoever did it. He was my friend. That's the deal."  
  
"That's the deal," Vanessa agrees, reaching for Brooke's wrist. "Yeah. Deal."  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	2. i've been around and seen it all

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You're acting crazy," Ra'jah tells her after she causes a scene, with no segue in to it, grabbing at Brooke in the hall.
> 
> Brooke smiles exquisitely perfect. "Thank you," she says blandly, trying to end the conversation there.
> 
> "Jesus," Ra'jah says. "You've got half the girls here terrified you're going to go out walk into traffic and the other half scared of losing their man because they know he'd jump ship in a minute to dance with you. You're a fucking national disaster."

  
  
Even before Vanessa makes her offer, Brooke is drifting, getting lost. She had a compass once but now he's cooling in a morgue somewhere and she doesn't know how to make peace with a world where this was allowed to happen.  
  
She misses two rehearsals, speaks to no-one, and ignores every single offer of partnership that comes her way like she didn't even notice them.  
  
"You're acting crazy," Ra'jah tells her after she causes a scene, with no segue in to it, grabbing at Brooke in the hall.  
  
Brooke smiles exquisitely perfect. "Thank you," she says blandly, trying to end the conversation there.  
  
"Jesus," Ra'jah says. "You've got half the girls here terrified you're going to go out walk into traffic and the other half scared of losing their man because they know he'd jump ship in a minute to dance with you. You're a fucking national disaster."  
  
"Thank you," Brooke repeats. "But I have made my intentions clear. I have a partner, she's registered for the open floor."  
  
"You're dancing his part?" Ra'jah says, "for real?"  
  
"I've done it before."  
  
"Yeah," Ra'jah says, heated, "it's a real cute shtick for showboating in the introductions, or charming them all at a private party. Not in competition you don't. You two were cute with that. This ain't a fucking game, Brooke. You don't do that in competition." She stops, but only long enough to draw breath and keep going. Ra'jah's opinions come in packs; you never encounter one alone in the wild. "Even if you do, who the hell is she? Fuck that. Pick someone qualified. Grab Plastique, that little girl thinks the sun shines out of your ass, she'd do something this stupid."  
  
Brooke really hopes Plastique wouldn't, not for Brooke's sake anyway, but can't deny Ra'jah has a point.  
  
"Here's the thing," she says. "I said what I'm doing. None of it is up for discussion."  
  
"You're acting crazy," Ra'jah tells her, poking a finger against Brooke's collarbone and shaking her head a little, "but fuck it, we all know you're number one. I want to come up against the number one, beat her and have it to mean something. Hold it together, okay?"  
  
Brooke blinks. She hadn't quite expected that. "I'll try," she says, quiet.

  
*

 

  
  
  
"Foxtrot," Brooke says, raising one finger, then raising another. "Tango," she says, "Waltz. Get through the basics of those and fake the rest of it well enough, we'll get through open floor. Then there's finals over the next few days, but probably nothing to be done about that."  
  
"Great," Vanessa says, without sincerity. "How hard can it be?"  
  
Brooke doesn't even react, which is somehow even scarier than if she'd seemed annoyed. "Rumba," she adds. "Maybe a rumba."  
  
"Okay," Vanessa says. "I'll add it to the list."  
  
"I'll drag you through it," Brooke says, somewhere between a promise and a threat. "We'll be fine."  
  
"Right." Vanessa says. "We will." And 'we' is the operative word. "Are you - you weren't just blowing off steam, there? I just thought you might show me a few things. Get me through. I didn't expect whatever this is."  
  
"Well, that wasn't very well thought-through." Brooke says, lighting a cigarette. "From a distance, if we work hard and you're a quick learner, maybe we can fool people watching that you're on the level of an open amatuer. But who you're dancing with, they're going to know." She gestures lazily at herself. "So unless you want to drag someone else into all this, you've got one option who already does and it's me."  
  
"Right," Vanessa says. "Yeah."  
  
"Speaking of which-" Brooke raises an eyebrow. "I've been talking too long. You have the important job to do."  
   
Oh, Vanessa is in trouble. Questions. Right. She had questions.  
  
"You ever known anything, uh, bad like this?" she asks.  
  
"Like someone dead? No." Brooke is both blunt and unrelenting. "I've seen pushed down the stairs and broken bones, costumes found burned, ground up glass," she gestures with a make up brush just for emphasis, "in the powder."  
  
"Fuck me," Vanessa says involuntarily. "You're animals."  
  
"Welcome to the jungle," Brooke says, a little amused. "We are. But no, not like this. Any of the rest, it might make some kind of sense, if it- any of that." There's an unspoken layer to it, that Brooke can see those things happening, and of the two of them the person she sees them happening to is her. "But this makes no sense, and I don't have anything to say to you that might help."  
  
"And-" Vanessa hesitates. "Were you close?"  
  
"Yes. But ask the real question," Brooke says.  
  
"Were you fucking?" Vanessa asks, because okay, she said to do it.  
  
"No," Brooke says. "We never did."  
  
"I haven't been here long," Vanessa says. Maybe a few hours, idling around, overhearing things. "A lot of people seem to think you were."  
  
"Most of them, I'm sure," Brooke says calmly. "We played it up enough."  
  
Oh. "Why?"  
  
"Is it relevant?" Brooke asks, and here's what trips Vanessa up; it sounds like a honest question. Like she just wants to know. And Vanessa trips up, doesn't say yes quickly enough, and Brooke notices and sits straight and her defences all come safely back  up.  
  
"If it becomes relevant, Miss Mateo," Brooke says, "ask me again. And I'll answer."  
  
"Sounds good," Vanessa says softly.  
  
"Sorry," Brooke says unexpectedly. "I know- I'm not helping you at all. Not like this. Let's stop." She stands up, stubs out the cigarette, and puts a record on.  
  
"Show me something," she says. "We'll start with that."  
  
No one ever accused Vanessa of being shy. She strikes a pose, best she knows how, and struts a little. Does a little shimmy.  
  
Brooke actually laughs out loud.  
  
"Well," she says, "Okay. She doesn't know what the fuck she's doing, but she can move to music. I can work with that."

  
  
  
*

 

  
  
  
Back at her real job, Vanessa leans on A'keria, both physically and metaphorically. "You got a report?"  
  
"I do," A'keria says. "And it wasn't an accident."  
  
"Shit," Vanessa says under her breath.  
  
"You already knew that, girl," A'keria says curiously.  
  
"Yeah," Vanessa says. "But it's starting to seem like maybe he was a nice person. I didn't factor that in. I haven't done this before, you know that."  
  
"Right," A'keria says gently, fiddling with the file to reorder it. "Here's the autopsy, and there are photographs, but don't look at them unless the report doesn't make sense."  
  
Vanessa's never done a murder before. She was called in because Brooke refused to get dressed properly until she'd finished putting on her make-up, and every one of her colleagues not wearing a skirt, which was all of them, panicked a bit.  
  
Fuck.

 

  
*

 

  
  
Vanessa is in trouble, and not just because she's trying to juggle a murder investigation with choreography, something no one should ever have to do, quite frankly.  
  
She feels bad whenever she's late, because Brooke puts aside any hours she asks for to rehearse, but she knows Brooke makes herself up pretty and goes out after, sometimes teaching, sometimes charging a fee to liven up cocktail parties. It looks exhausting.  
  
"Sorry," she says, breathless, and late.  
  
Brooke, holding up a pair of very nicely tailored gentleman's pants around her waist and sticking pins in them to tailor them further, just nods at her. "Not a problem," she says, a little distracted. "For once, thank fuck I'm this tall."  
  
"For once?" Vanessa asks, trying to make a joke of it.  
  
"Sure," Brooke says, dropping the pants and wandering over to Vanessa just in underwear. "I was a couple of inches taller than most of them, no one wanted that. They all wanted a pretty little thing like you, that looks the part just right."  
  
"Were they blind too or just stupid?" Vanessa asks instinctively, then wishes she could take it back. It might be a little bit unprofessional.  
  
Luckily, Brooke doesn't seem to notice. "Oh, nothing I have is going to fit you," she says. "Let's go find someone more your size, who has more money than they have sense."  
  
"Sure, I have spare dresses," Ariel says, about fifteen minutes later, flipping her hair. "Why doesn't _she_ have dresses?"  
  
"She's from out of town," Brooke lies, terrifingly well. "And came here to be a tourist, but I roped her in to this instead. I owe her several favours."  
  
"What are friends for?" Vanessa offers, in case she's supposed to say something.  
  
"You have friends out of town?" another girl interrupts.  
  
"Well," Brooke says evenly, "I sure as hell don't keep them here, do I, Silky?"  
  
Silky roars laughing, and Ariel passes over a few spare dresses at half-cost, and Brooke pays up.  
  
"I'd lend them," she points out, cheerfully taking the money.  
  
"I'm not leaving them as they are," Brooke informs her, "I have opinions. And I'd rather pay up now."  
  
"Alright, queen of the north," Ariel says pointedly. There's a few titters, it seems like an old joke.  
  
"We don't call her that because of the accent," Silky adds, right to Vanessa. "So you found a crack in the ice, huh? Girl, I am impressed."  
  
Brooke just tilts her head, unconcerned. And while there is a lot of bravado in the room Vanessa starts learning everyone's names and she doubts, sincerely, that any of them killed that man.  
  
"Okay," she says, back in Brooke's dressing room, trying to concentrate. "And I turn-"  
   
"You turn like this," Brooke says, showing her for maybe the tenth time. "Like so."  
  
Brooke moves like every room in the world was designed only for her to dance in, owns every space. It's pretty hard to live up to, when you're still trying to get the steps. But she's patient too, endlessly so, and Vanessa can start to see why Plastique and the other young ones gravitate to her so easy.  
  
"Stop, breathe. Try again."  
  
Vanessa tries to do that.  
  
"We're telling a story," Brooke tells her, mildly exasperated, pulling Vanessa up in her arms to start again. "The rumba is the dance of love. Look at me like you're in love."  
  
Vanessa looks at her. Just does that.  
  
"That's better," Brooke says, "great work. And two, three, four-"  
  
Vanessa is in real trouble, here. Real goddamn trouble.  
  
  



	3. hear me out before you say the night is over

  
  
It's usually the wife, or the husband. But if it's not, follow the money.  
  
There's a lot less money than Vanessa expected, if she's honest.   
  
"Okay," she says, especially after she's seen what Brooke handed over for Ariel's second-hand gowns, which Brooke re-tailors for her specifically and carefully, a whole process she hadn't anticipated. "I thought it'd be more. If you win. That is not very much."  
  
Brooke laughs out loud. "No one here is making money," she promises, on her knees and concentrating on Vanessa's waistline being - Vanessa's not sure exactly, maybe tighter? Possibly less tight. Definitely better. "If you win you might, if you're smart about it, break even. For everyone else, you hope you budgeted right for what you're willing to lose."  
  
"I don't want to generalise," Vanessa tells her, "but y'all are crazy."  
  
"I will not argue that point," Brooke agrees mildly, pinning something and looking satisfied with it. "There, that's better."  
  
"Really though," Vanessa says, "why the hell do you do it?"  
  
"Well," Brooke says, finishing whatever she was doing, noting it and falling back into a chair while reaching for another cigarette, which is about four too many today as far as Vanessa is concerned. "If you ask Silky, she'll tell you it's her calling." She lights the cigarette. "If you ask Plastique, she'll name three past champions she's put on a pedestal and tell you too much about why. If you ask Scarlet, depending she what mood she's in, she might say something rather poetic and insightful about loving the art form-" Brooke shrugs "-or she might just twirl and consider that an answer. It depends."  
  
"Great, I love how you told me nothing," Vanessa says. "Why do you do it?"  
  
Brooke blinks. "Because I am very, very good at it," she says.   
  
"Pride is a real bitch," she adds, "And a bitch who doesn't cover rent, which is why I am renting myself out by the hour to dance back-up tonight at a godawful dinner show across town, and I need to get over there. Do you have my other shoe?"  
  
Vanessa is, in fact, sitting in the way of Brooke's other shoe, and passes it over.  
  
"Thank you," Brooke says politely.  
  
"Should I come?" Vanessa says. She's not bored, exactly, just - curious. "I just mean, if that what would be normal, if we weren't pretending. You know."  
  
"Not to the show," Brooke says, "Don't waste your time. Come around after though, we'll probably go somewhere." She stops and thinks a moment. "Although it is Miss Yvette's afterparty, so you may see some things that are personally, and for you definitely professionally, uh... quite concerning."  
  
"There are extenuating circumstances," Vanessa says, because undercover has its perks. "And I promise I will look the other way, and probably arrest none of your friends when all this is over."  
  
"Probably?" Brooke asks, nearly smiling.  
  
"Very probably," Vanessa promises sincerely.  
  
"I'll take those odds," Brooke says, "You're invited."  
  
  
  


  
*

 

  
  
Earlier that day, Vanessa visits a bank. She has absolutely no idea if her badge gives her the right to ask for the past financial statements of a dead man, that's the kind of thing she'd have to ask Shuga and then maybe get lectured about, but the manager also has no idea and in the impasse that follows Vanessa thinks she probably bluffed better. She'll find out eventually, depending on whether anything gets sent through. Right now though, she's late to getting fitted with something to wear by Brooke, and just flat out runs once she hits the front door.   
  
She stumbles to a stop because she almost runs into Plastique.  
  
"Vanessa," Plastique says with relief, exiting the studio space and wobbling while attempting to walk with only one heel on, holding the other, which looks fairly broken, in her hand. "Oh thank god. Walk me to my room?"  
  
Vanessa is very late, but she's not a complete asshole. "Yeah," she says, catching Plastique's arm. "What happened?"  
  
"I was there and I don't even know," Plastique says immediately. "Scarlet and Ra'jah collided and then went at it over whose fault that was, really went at it, but there were already beads all over the floor-" she gestures with her broken shoe, "Everyone was shouting, and I slipped up but I got off easy, I think Honey really did her ankle in. Silky was on the sidelines, but I don't know if she was yelling at us to calm down or to egg us on, honestly."  
  
"Sometimes I think you and Brooke have the right idea," Plastique adds, a moment later, leaning on Vanessa. "Practice in private. Are you ever going to come down to the studio, do you think?"  
  
"Don't know, maybe," Vanessa says. If she hurries up and gets enough of a grip on the steps that Brooke can risk dancing with her in front of people and not giving the game away. God, she needs to buckle down on that. "But also I think, uh, Brooke knows people are talking about her a lot. I think the gameplan right now might be to let them keep talking, and keep wondering."  
  
"Sounds about right," Plastique says quietly, looking at Vanessa like she's re-evaluating her. "I thought it was a bad idea," she adds, after a moment, unprompted. "I don't now. I'm glad she's still in. We all thought it'd be theirs last year, and then this year in auditions, they were the only ones to beat, you know? And then-" she gestures, as if to encompass the whole tragedy in a handwave. "It's terrible. But I'm glad she didn't give up."  
  
"What happened last year?" Vanessa asks, because she has to, and also because she can't help it.  
  
"Oh, nothing happened. They were really good. Just fumbled it a bit at the finish line, I guess? Nerves or something. Oh, hey." She stops at a door and smiles bright. "This is me. Thanks."  
  
"No problem," Vanessa says.  
  
"I thought it was a bad idea," Plastique says sweetly, patting Vanessa's shoulder. "But you really seem to have her back."  
  
Considering she's nearing on an hour late to when they agreed to meet Vanessa is not sure Brooke would agree, but she takes the compliment and runs with it. Literally.  
  


  
  
*

 

  
Vanessa takes a peek at the show, because she's terrible at taking orders, ask anyone. It isn't great, that part's true, but Brooke stands out, as does the only other girl her height, with a sculpted little haircut and skirt higher than Vanessa's ever seen outside of someone's goddamn private bedroom. While none of the newspapers seem to be able to come to consensus as to whether the flapper is the future of womankind or the herald of the apocalypse, Vanessa thinks they'd all agree on wanting to use this one's photo underneath the byline when they say it.  
  
She meets them back stage door, and they go back to Yvie's place to keep the night going. Vanessa, keeping to her promise, looks the other way. Quite a lot. She also tries very hard to blend in to the background, because apparently everyone here dances for real, and for money.  
  
"Stop thinking," Brooke says, at her back, a little after they arrive. She touches Vanessa's shoulder, lightly, then presses a thumb soft but sure to the base of her neck, where the tension lives. Vanessa suspects she doesn't even know she's doing it, just does it instinctive and thoughtless. Lucky them, whoever it is she learned to do it for.

"You fit in better than you think you do." And then she's gone, pulled somewhere by Yvie.  
  
Vanessa hears a couple of shouts of Texas Tommy and Lindy Hop, recognises it but doesn't know what it means. What she does know is that the room clears to leave Brooke and Yvie, dancing fast and definitely not together; if Vanessa had to describe it, she'd have to start somewhere with kids showing off and end somewhere with an actual old-school duel by grown-ups who should know better. It is - it is somewhere in between that.  
  
Brooke is sharp, throws herself in hard and reckless but quick on her feet, very different when there aren't rules to play by. Yvie is hypnotic and entirely at home, playing to the music like even she doesn't know what she's doing next and has never given a damn about it, not once, in her entire life.  
  
When the music stops the applause happens, and Vanessa realises too late it's supposed to be some kind of vote. Brooke starts to drop a curtsey in Yvie's direction, due respect to the host, but Yvie grabs her hand and stops her. "I call a draw," she tells the room, "I'm calling it!"  
  
The reponse is loud, and most people seem to be on board with that idea.  
  
Later, while Vanessa is trying to enjoy the party, which also means trying to forget everything she ever learned about narcotics violations, they all end up on a couch together.  
  
"I'm Yvie," Yvie says cheerfully, "who the hell are you?"  
  
"Vanessa."  
  
"Okay," Yvie says, looking from Brooke to Vanessa. "But what's a Vanessa, then?"  
  
"You tell her first," Brooke says placidly, moderately sober and very deliberately sitting between them.  
  
Yvie rolls her eyes, and reaches out to shake Vanessa's hand. "I'm Yvie," she says. "I don't do dressage like this one does, I'm not - I'm a goddamn racehorse."  
  
"Her metaphors get worse as she gets drunker," Brooke supplies, helpfully. "Miss Yvette, for now, declines to do structured dance competition."  
  
"Fuck that," Yvie agrees, leaning against Brooke.  
  
"I'm Vanessa," Vanessa says, returning the handshake. "And I, uh, do the dressage, I guess."  
  
"Good luck," Yvie says with a wink, "kick her ass, she deserves it."  
  
"I mean," Vanessa laughs a bit. "Wouldn't help me much. She's my partner."  
  
"Right," Yvie says, still laughing, then her eyes go wide when no one laughs with her. "Really? You're-" she turns and punches Brooke in the shoulder, fairly hard. "Bitch!" She says, utterly delighted. "Oh, fuck you, you can't finally do something interesting and not fucking tell me about it!"  
  
Brooke takes a draw from her cigarette, which Vanessa is starting to be sure she does every time she wants to avoid having an actual facial expression; in this particular case, she's pretty sure Brooke is stifling a smile.  
  
"I can do whatever I damn well want," Brooke says.  
  


  
  
* 

  
  
  
They practice in private. It's probably a good idea. Vanessa still trying to pin things down, but damn if she isn't a quick learner, and Brooke is patient, blunt as hell all the same, and makes time on demand. It's a lot, though.  
  
When Brooke circles an arm around her waist and Vanessa goes in the air, even though she knows it's coming every time, she kind of messes up. She tries to at least improvise and hit the floor without stumbling this time.  
  
"Sorry," she says immediately. "Fuck. I did that wrong."  
  
"Strong words," Brooke says placidly. "I'd disagree. It wasn't what I showed you, but it got you where you needed to go."  
  
"Shut up," Vanessa says, "Let's go again, I'll do it right." She stands straight, determined to get it this time. Open floor is tomorrow.  
  
"You have the hard job, did I tell you that?" Brooke asks her.  
  
"I just have to get it right, I'm leading, but you have to trust me to get it right and also do it right yourself." She tucks Vanessa's hair back away from her face. "I won't apologise for it, but I want you to know, don't be scared of improvising and know that I don't care what happens on the floor. I don't. I just care about the real job you're here to do."  
  
"I'm working on that," Vanessa says quiet.  
  
"Of course," Brooke tells her. "You don't need to tell me anything until you know."  
  
A moment.  
  
"But we do need to do that again because-"  
  
"I know! I know, we're doing it again! Get started, bitch-"  
  
Open floor is tomorrow.  
  
  


  
*

  
  
  
Vanessa's attention is distracted with some kind of flouncing around ballroom ridiculousness but also, it seems, by a six-foot-whatever cross-dressing bombshell. A'keria will give her a pass and admit that is a very good excuse. She is fine with that. Vanessa works too hard, getting distracted is probably good for her.  
  
Except she gets bored, and runs through what the bank sent them about the dead man, even though they probably shouldn't. Vanessa has a lot to answer for on that one. A'keria stops, takes a moment, and looks through it twice, hoping she was wrong.  
  
"Oh," Ak'eria says out loud, softly but with feeling. "Oh, fuck."  
  
  
  
  



	4. i follow you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Open floor is here, and Vanessa knows maybe half the steps she should. But she's there, and she plans to make the rest up on sheer willpower and charm, if she can. She had her little fantasies, like a lot of little girls did about being the beautiful dancing thing they saw on the silver screen, but in a borrowed dress made right to fit her and made-up by Brooke's careful hands she feels like maybe she looks the part she used to dream about.

 

  
  
Fact number one: Nina has been friends with Brooke for seven years, although they like to round it to the nearest convenient decade, it sounds better that way.

Fact number two: Nina is judging this year, so they have to pretend that none of that is true. Those are the rules. Except everything goes to hell, and Nina is ready to break all the rules if Brooke needs her to.  
  
They brush past in the corridor. Brooke steps aside without giving her any shit, not even playfully, and just nods with a deference that kills Nina quietly inside.  
  
"Brooke-" she says.  
  
"I'm making it through," Brooke says quickly, brushing by and pressing a hasty kiss to Nina's shoulder, just because it's closest and if she hugs closer she might lose the facade. Nina, who has never known Brooke to not to throw herself into Nina's lap any time they happen to meet, is worried.  
  
"I'm fine," Brooke lies blatantly, "And you're on the panel this time, you made it. Only think about that. You deserve it."  
  
"Okay," Nina replies. "I'll just forget us, then." It's supposed to be a joke. She reaches out to grab Brooke's hand, because it's a joke.  
  
Brooke nods, distracted, catches Nina's hand and brings it up quick, kisses her knuckles soft and sure, and is gone.

It wasn't taken as a joke. Well, this might just be the first time she's ever lied to Brooke, and hopefully the last. Nina has no intention of letting this go, though. Something is wrong, and she's going to figure it out.

  
  
  
  
*

  
  
  
Open floor is here, and Vanessa knows maybe half the steps she should. But she's there, and she plans to make the rest up on sheer willpower and charm, if she can. She had her little fantasies, like a lot of little girls did about being the beautiful dancing thing they saw on the silver screen, but in a borrowed dress made right to fit her and made-up by Brooke's careful hands she feels like maybe she looks the part she used to dream about.  
  
Brooke looks good, too. That's the understatement of the century, but Vanessa doesn't have the right words.  
  
She fixed up the suit, tailored it a bit for sure, but it's not cinched in, nothing predictable. The lines of it sit like they should, just they do it right against her body, and even with barely a cuban heel she's as tall as any of them. Platinum hair pulled back, tied tight at her neck. No red lipstick, usually bold to make a point, but not today.  
  
"Hi," Brooke says. "Ready?"  
  
"Fuck it," Vanessa tells her. "As much as I will be."  
  
They're called out, each pair designated numbers. Vanessa can feel the tension, hears the barely-held back complaints under people's breath.  
  
"Do the numbers matter?" She asks quiet.  
  
"Not officially," Brooke answers, also soft. "People have their theories about what it means."  
  
"We haven't danced yet." Vanessa points out.  
  
Brooke's hands trace across her shoulders, "Of course not," she says absently. "Don't worry about it."  
  
"But if we haven't-"  
  
"You can play the game or fight the rules," Brooke says quiet. "No one's strong enough to do both. Don't worry about it. Will you dance with me, Miss Mateo?"  
  
The waltz is first. The waltz was first, the first where you held close. Someone told Vanessa that, at some point. There's rotation but only slight rise, and these are all facts she knows and forgets immediately. It's okay, though. She follows Brooke, and finds her way.  
  
Tango is a little different. Tango is a game of cat and mouse, keeping to the steps but brushing close at the knee, the ankle, the waist, whenever you can get away with it. If Brooke moves a little predatory in the tango, that's good, that's - it's pretty great. And when the foxtrot kicks in, Vanessa can't help but think about Yvie. There's no rise or fall to this one, it's just fast, and it wants you to commit. So she does, and catches Brooke's eye, and grins a little. Fuck it, if nothing else, they're having fun.  
  
She thought it would be more frightening, such a big space, so many people. But if she focuses on Brooke, it feels just like practice.  
  
Open floor is here, and they dance just like they did in a crowded little dressing room, just looking at each other.  
  
When the music stops, Vanessa's heart is racing like crazy, she's feeling like spinning wild, and Brooke tucks her under her arm with a fond glance, rolling her eyes. There's still judging to go. She tries to remember what Brooke told her explicitly while she was dressing for this: it doesn't matter, it's just for show, and no one will notice if she stays for the finals no matter what happens.  
  
Everyone is playing calm. Nina reads out the numbers that made finals. Vanessa's and Brooke's is the third.  
  
Everyone is supposed to be playing calm.  
  
"Oh!" Vanessa can keep her cool, sometimes. Sometimes. "Bitch, we done did it! We-"  
  
Brooke doesn't answer out loud, she's too polished for that, but she picks Vanessa up bodily and hitches her up at her hip so she's celebrating not only out loud but also up high.  
  
People that don't get called have worse tantrums, so it's not so noticeable and not much of a problem that they were loud. If Nina and Brooke make eye contact and smile a little, that's not allowed but it is also, in the ways that matter, no one's business but theirs.  
  
Nina will never favour anyone for any reason, not in her official role, but she has friends and fuck anyone who tries to tell her she shouldn't be happy for them.

 

  
*

  
  
  
A'keria hands the paperwork over without comment, and looking mildly concerned. Vanessa reads it, double checks the dates and understands why.  
  
"Fuck," she says quietly.  
  
"Yeah," A'keria says. "That's what I said. Do you want me to take this one? I can."  
  
"No," Vanessa says. A'keria is a good friend. "Thank you. No. I've got it."  
  
She and Brooke have rehearsal, for the finals. Vanessa turns up.  
  
"Hey," Brooke says. "On time, and everything." She flashes a smile.  
  
Vanessa wants nothing more than to walk right back out and do this another day.  
  
"Yeah," Vanessa says. "Do you have a minute?"  
  
"I do. That's kind of the point." Brooke is as light-hearted as Vanessa has honestly ever seen, and it would hurt less to do this if she didn't know that.  
  
"Can you tell me about this?" She asks, holding out the relevant pages. "Can you tell me if you knew?"  
  
Brooke stops. She looks, and she takes the time to read it, but when she does she's impassive, gives nothing.  
  
"We never got involved in each other's finances." She says eventually, handing it back. "I didn't know anything, because I had no reason to. Is it supposed to be important?"  
  
Vanessa makes the first of many mistakes she's going to make in this conversation, but only because she cares.  
  
"Yeah it is, because this doesn't fucking look good, Brooke," she says. "You gotta see how it doesn't."  
  
"Tell me how," Brooke asks. If Vanessa were properly paying attention, she'd hear the break in the words. Brooke knows how, she's several steps ahead like she usually is. Vanessa is paying attention, or at least she's trying to, but she's also trying to manage a whole lot of other priorities.  
  
"I'll tell you what it looks like," Vanessa says. "It looks like a dancer who was top odds to win last year took a couple of big payouts, right before the finals, and then didn't win, no one knows why. It looks like he took another payout early this year's auditions too. It looks like he died violent, and his partner in all this, who is the one who has the most reason to be angry, she found out he was dead at midday and performed at a fucking evening show the same night. I know because I watched you do make-up for it. That's what it looks like."  
  
"Well," Brooke says, composed. "You better tell me what we do now."  
  
"What?" Vanessa barks out, looking for answers. "What the hell?"  
  
"It looks like what it looks like," Brooke says, bracing herself, and Vanessa has known her to do that, just usually with Vanessa in her arms playing out the steps before a lift. "I can see that. So tell me how this goes. I've never been arrested before. Do you do it right here or do you need to take me somewhere?"  
  
"That's what you've got to say?" Vanessa is furious, fucking incandescant.  
  
"I have answered you honestly even when I hated it," Brooke snarls back, and okay, maybe this is the hill she's picked to die on. "If nothing I say mattered then, it doesn't matter if I repeat it, so I won't. It seems like you have made up your mind."  
  
"Fuck you," Vanessa says, "Actually really, fuck you. If I had made my mind up, I wouldn't be trying to get you to tell me your side of the story. I shouldn't be talking to you at all. I'm not doing my job right, all because-"  
  
Oh. It's strange, to realise something only as you say it.  
  
"I don't need you to play nice with me," Brooke says, a little absent like she's defending herself the only way she knows how, which is disappearing entirely, and consequently also entirely missing Vanessa's point. She's a little absent, straight-backed and ready for whatever she thinks is going to happen. "I don't need any favours."  
  
"Fuck you, it's because-" Vanessa barrels on through and finishes what she meant to say, putting herself between Brooke and the door and trying to spell it out all out clearly, with small words and a few illustrative gestures. "I came in here talking crazy to you and you listened and I learned the waltz in about six days with you teaching me, you never had to do that right or be patient about it. Yes, you answer every question I ask you, even when it pisses you off, and you're a bitch when you're scared, but when you're with the girls that look up to you, with Plastique or even with Yvie you go fucking soft, I've seen it, and the way you talk about him I don't think - it's _because_."  
  
"So maybe I'm dumb and sentimental but I don't think you did it." Vanessa says. "Which is just what I think, what I'm feeling."  
  
"But my feelings don't count for shit in court," she adds. "So that's why too. Because I want you to give me something to go on. Say something. Please."  
  
  



	5. i'm getting dressed and they're going to crucify me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Earlier in the week, when they're just starting out with the most basic steps, whenever Brooke tells Vanessa something she needs to do or to change, she accompanies it a barely-there brush of the fingers at the relevant spot. At the small of her back, if she needs to stand straighter. At her wrist, if her hand is drifting too low on Brooke's arm. A little tap at her jaw if she need to remember to tilt her head to the side with her eyes up, instead of staring down to try and see what her feet are doing.

   
  
  
"-my feelings don't count for shit in court," Vanessa says, "So that's why too. Because I want you to give me something to go on. Say something. Please."  
  
Brooke, whose body is often a little more treacherously honest than she will ever allow her mouth to be, sits down hard at the word _please_ , more like she just got hit than simply asked a question.  
  
"Fuck," she says, to no one in particular. "I need a smoke."  
  
She locates a cigarette even as she says it, but seems lost for a lighter, so Vanessa leans over and lights it for her.  
  
Vanessa waits, then prompts her. "Brooke? I believe you, if you say you don't know what this is," Vanessa starts, gesturing with the bank papers then putting them down.  
  
Brooke looks up at her, a little wary. Okay, Vanessa knows she hasn't handled this the best, but - ouch. She soldiers on, though.  
  
"But I still think there are things you haven't said to me."  
  
Brooke smiles, no happiness in it. "Where would you like me to start?"  
  
"Tell me about last year."  
  
"We didn't lose last year," Brooke says, slow and deliberate, "because anything was rigged. Or at least not by us. We lost last year because he got his heart broken too close to competition, and when he got thrown off his game, so did I."  
  
That is not at all what Vanessa had expected to hear.  
  
"Okay," she says, trying to refigure everything. "I- fine. Okay. Was it another dancer?"  
  
"Maybe," Brooke shrugs. "Probably. Timing makes sense."  
  
"Brooke-" Vanessa hasn't handled any of this well, but she hasn't lost her temper yet. She's on the edge, though.  
  
"Believe me or don't, do what you want." Brooke says wryly, raising her hands in mocking, or at least Vanessa hopes it's mocking, surrender, and angling herself towards Vanessa. "I am not actually trying to make this difficult. We never talked about-" she stops, and absently stubs out the cigarette on the table, leaving marks.  
  
"It's a felony in every state, right there in law," she says, and Vanessa takes a second to realise what Brooke is implying then her mouth opens in a soft 'o' of surprise. "Isn't that bad enough, that weight above his head when he's just doing the most mundane and stupidly human thing we all do, looking at someone and realising you might want them?" She pauses a moment. "He preferred not to say, and his personal life is something he never had to account for to me. But if we danced well enough together that people made assumptions about us, that was just fine by me, good, maybe sometimes it made things easier. That's all I needed to know."  
  
"You covered for him," Vanessa realises, and says out loud.  
  
"We were friends, and we covered for each other," Brooke says. She shrugs again, an incongruously defiant gesture, "So, now I have said something, and it's true, but unfortunately I don't think that's enough to make it helpful. I can't see how it helps explain what happened, or-" she looks towards the paperwork, "that money, I don't know what that is. It still looks like what it looks like, and I know you need to do your job."  
  
Vanessa can think of a few ways this kind of information might change things, because unlike Brooke she isn't mourning a friend, she's just working a case. She's working on a case, and if she only thinks about it in those terms, then she can run like a coward from the implications of everything else Brooke might have just told her.  
  
"Yeah," Vanessa says, "I am going to do my job."  
  
It's an easier decision than she thought it would be.  
  
"Right," Brooke says calm. "Do I get another cigarette before we go?"  
  
"No," Vanessa tells her, "You don't. And I'm not taking you anywhere, because I am going to figure out what actually happened before anyone else gets a chance to look too close at what they might think happened. Stay right here."  
  
Fuck what it looks like.

  
*

 

   
Earlier in the week, when they're just starting out with the most basic steps, whenever Brooke tells Vanessa something she needs to do or to change, she accompanies it a barely-there brush of the fingers at the relevant spot. At the small of her back, if she needs to stand straighter. At her wrist, if her hand is drifting too low on Brooke's arm. A little tap at her jaw if she need to remember to tilt her head to the side with her eyes up, instead of staring down to try and see what her feet are doing.  
  
Eventually, and gradually enough that Vanessa doesn't even notice, Brooke stops bothering about saying those type of things out loud at at all. Without all the things she's getting wrong hanging in the air for Vanessa to compulsively list in her head and go over again and again, she starts to relax into it, and really starts to think she might be getting it.  
  
"Natural turn," Brooke says quiet at her ear, tapping two fingers feather-light at Vanessa's elbow. It feels more like a hint than it does a correction, somehow conspiratorial. She holds on to Brooke's shoulder a little higher, and they turn smoothly to Brooke's right.

  
  
  
*

  
  
  
Vanessa has hundred thoughts all trying to either crowd or ache each other out, so she needs someone she trusts, both to listen and also to call her on her own bullshit if need be.  
  
"I'm not having a meeting with you about this," A'keria informs Vanessa. "Because I am not getting involved. I am merely coming into this room because you bought me a sandwich, and it's a good sandwich, so I'm going to eat it. And if you talk then you talk. I'm here for the sandwich."  
  
"I understand and respect that," Vanessa says, and starts blurting out a recap of what Brooke said - well, the parts she deems relevant, you know, to the case - before she's even finished shutting their tiny office door. "So, I have a new theory-"  
  
"You have a second theory," A'keria interrupts, taking all of two minutes to break her own sandwich-based rules. "Theory number one is staying on the table because it's the only solid one we've had so far, and I don't care if you don't like it."  
  
"I have a second theory," Vanessa repeats obediently, because she might talk tough but A'keria hasn't gone running to Shuga yet, which means she's still on Vanessa's side. "Because we have a victim who was in a relationship that ended badly, and best case scenario would be a scandal if it were public, worst case scenario prosecution. And we don't know who the other man was, so we don't know how much he had to lose."  
  
A'keria squints slightly. "Blackmail?"  
  
"Sure," Vanessa says. "Or hush money, whatever. Depends. Both can end badly."  
  
"So why do the dates match?"  
  
Vanessa deflates a little. "I don't know. I'm working on that. Opportunity? If it's the only time of year they run into each other, maybe - met each other again, things were less finished than people thought?"  
  
"You're reaching," A'keria tells her.  
  
"More than a gi- a woman killing someone because she came runner-up in a dance competition a year ago?" Vanessa "If I'm not reaching for something else I'm not trying hard enough." She pauses, and gives A'keria's doubt its due. "And yeah, I am taking into account that they're all crazy people."  
  
A'keria finishes her sandwich, and looks a little mournful that it's over. "I hate this case," she tells the empty plate.  
  
"Okay," she says, looking back up at Vanessa. "I'm listing rich bastards who only turn up for the fancy end of the competition. Someone with more money than sense is paying for this circus, probably a whole committee of them. I'll start there." She sighs. "Go back to dancing two-step with our main suspect, and god help you."  
  
"Thank you," Vanessa says, "I owe you."  
  
"You fucking always do," A'keria points out. Vanessa rolls her eyes. She's right, but it didn't need to be said.

 

  
  
*

 

   
  
Earlier in the week, when they're just starting out with the most basic steps, Brooke sees how far Vanessa is getting in her own head and changes tactics. It seems to work. She shouldn't be surprised; touch is a language she's always been far more fluent in than she's ever been with words.  
  
She can't shake the feeling that the world ended while she was waiting stage left all alone and she's the only one that noticed, so the rehearsals she has with Vanessa are the closest thing to enjoying herself she'll allow.  
  
After all, even if he were here giving her hell for everything else, the tears she hasn't managed to find and the things she hasn't been able to say out loud, he'd never be angry at her for enjoying teaching someone to dance.

 

 

*

  
  
  
They had planned two practices today. Vanessa isn't sure what the etiquette is when you ruined the first one by generally fucking everything up, but she figures she should turn up to this one on time at least.  
  
She turns up early, and hovers in the doorway to catch the the sight of Brooke dancing with a slight figure that isn't her. They move like a dream, and stop short before the dip.  
  
"See?" Brooke says. "You can do this in your sleep."  
  
"I've never made finals before," Plastique says, sounding shaky. "This is- it's so much more pressure."  
  
"Tough," Brooke interrupts, still holding Plastique gentle. "Because if you keep like dancing like this, you're going to be in them every time from now on. So get used to it, or be less good at what you do."  
  
"I hate you," Plastique informs her, with an utter warmth and hug that Brooke looks startled by, and that belies the words entirely. "Oh, hey. Vanessa. I'll let you guys practice."  
  
She leaves, and the silence is palpable.  
  
"She's nervous," Brooke says into the silence. "But she'll be fine."  
  
"Great," Vanessa says. "Good."  
  
"Do we need to talk?" Brooke asks, walking over hurriedly to shut the door. "Is there something-"  
  
"No." Vanessa says quickly. "No, just - I am working on it. But just here for practice."  
  
"Well, I kept it pencilled in my diary," Brooke says, measured about it, "but given I spent the morning genuinely thinking you were going to arrest me for murder, I made the wild assumption it might not go ahead as planned."  
  
"When you put it like that," Vanessa says a little weakly, "I was really an asshole here, wasn't I?"  
  
"It's fine," Brooke tells her, relaxed enough that she could be discussing what shoes to wear. "I told you that I don't need you to play nice with me."  
  
"Sorry anyway," Vanessa says quiet.  
  
Brooke blinks a bit, then smiles. "You never actually agreed to go past open floor, and you have more than held up your end of things." She pauses. "It's fine, it's nothing at all to call in injured tomorrow. You don't need to dance with me in finals if you don't want to do that anymore."

  
_We were friends, and we covered for each other._

  
Damn. Up until right now, running like a coward from the implications of everything else Brooke might have told her had been working so well. Implications and the lack of her own reaction to them; she's pretty sure she ought to be feeling things, like shocked, and harsher words than that. Different, at the very least. But if she stops to think about it she doesn't. Brooke is just there, just Brooke. Never more so than she is now, probably still wading through the emotional wreckage of the day they've had, but taking the time to politely and carefully allow Vanessa an out, and a graceful one at that.  
  
"It'll be easy." Brooke starts. "Everyone is worrying about themselves so much that-"  
  
"I would like to dance with you tomorrow," Vanessa says, reaching out a hand and all in a rush and with no finesse at all. She never claimed to have that, she's just trying her best. "If you want to do that too. I like dancing with you and I didn't learn all this shit not to go all the way."

 

 


	6. look at your reflection and you'll see what I like

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They practice together until late enough that it probably is less helpful than it is just reassurance.
> 
> Or, if you boil it down to what actually matters: she's tired as all hell, but she doesn't want to let go of Brooke's hands.
> 
> "I think we're done," Brooke says. "I think we need sleep." She's right, they both do. Vanessa's clenching her fist in frustration because she's missing things, and Brooke's not watching herself closely enough to stop from reaching out with both hands to untangle Vanessa's fingers. "We're set, I promise."

  
  
They practice together until late enough that it probably is less helpful than it is just reassurance.  
  
Or, if you boil it down to what actually matters: she's tired as all hell, but she doesn't want to let go of Brooke's hands.  
  
"I think we're done," Brooke says. "I think we need sleep." She's right, they both do. Vanessa's clenching her fist in frustration because she's missing things, and Brooke's not watching herself closely enough to stop from reaching out with both hands to untangle Vanessa's fingers. "We're set, I promise."  
  
"What are you wearing?" Vanessa asks, hating that she needs to be so practical.  
  
Brooke blinks. "A suit? One of his, they all are. I'm the right height, not the same build-" she shrugs, self-deprecating. "It isn't that much work to adjust though, if I'm honest."  
  
"Dance in what he wore last year." Vanessa wants to see who in the crowd flinches.  
  
"I mean, I won't fool anyone," Brooke says, doubtful but obviously trying to defer to Vanessa regardless. "If that's what-"  
  
"I know, and sorry I can't explain right now. Look it just a bit, okay, and I think maybe you move like he did," Vanessa says, "and that's more important."  
  
"Yeah," Brooke says, glancing at Vanessa fond. "Maybe it is. I've got what he wore last year. I'll fix it up in the morning."  
  
Vanessa hasn't done a murder before, but she has dealt with quite a few grieving friends and family across her career. None of them were like this. Brooke takes everything in stride, nothing is too much to ask, or to do. If Vanessa can't deliver, well - that's a terrifying thought, if only because of how it would feel.  
  
The elephant in the room remains unaddressed. Vanessa's heart beats faster whenever Brooke steps close, but Brooke never steps close unless she needs to, and if she notices she says nothing. Vanessa wishes she was braver, or Brooke less gracious.  
  
"Okay," Vanessa says.  
  
"See you tomorrow," she says.

  
*

  
  
  
"Thank you," A'keria says politely, wrangling a private room to talk to Nina in. "If no one said, this is in course of police inquiries and we appreciate your cooperation."  
  
"I am entirely at your disposal," Nina says sweetly. "I was wondering where the police attention was. I must say, I expected it sooner."  
  
A'keria is not yet at liberty to reference Vanessa's possibly overly-dedicated work on this case in retaliation to that comment, so she falls back to plan B, which is telling it like it is.  
  
"I'll cry myself to sleep over your poor opinion," she says to Nina, "right after I've finished telling you how to decide which ballerina ought to get the pretty crown. Wait, fuck - sorry, I forgot I don't know shit about doing your job. Wow. How about that."  
  
Nina, to A'keria's genuine surprise, looks utterly delighted and actually has to cover her mouth to stop from laughing.  
  
"It is important to me," she says after a moment, still grinning far too hard, "that you know that ballet is not a category."  
  
"Sure," A'keria says "duly noted. But you did used to dance, right? That's why you judge now."  
  
"I did," Nina says carefully. "Coached longer than I danced, but that's why I'm here. A few of us are. There are members of the committee on the panel as well."  
  
"What's that mean?"  
  
"It means we have a number of patrons whose families have been involved with us for a while, and I get the opportunity to share in the opinions of people whose interest in our art and generous contributions are equally appreciated. A fresh perspective is invaluable."  
  
"You're great at staying on script," A'keria tells her. She is starting to see why Vanessa is losing her damn mind around these people. They're fascinating.  
  
"Thanks, dear," Nina says soft. "I would hate to slip up and say I endure them solely because they give us money."  
  
A'keria likes this woman a lot.  
  
"Okay," she says. "I like you, and I'm running on not much time. If I show you a few photos-" she's got the judging panel there and the committee, a few removed because she does her research and they weren't in the country on relevant dates, probably in the south of france. That's where all the people with money go, as far as she knows. It must be crowded.  
  
"Could you tell me who, in your opinion, which won't leave this room unless you're right, might be scared, stupid and entitled enough to solve their problems with money first and violence later?"  
  
Nina blinks. Nina picks out about five photos, puts them aside.  
  
"That's all?" A'keria asks, curious.  
  
"Sorry," Nina says, not sorry at all. "I should clarify. They're the ones that don't fit your description. Everyone else is fair game."  
  
Damn it.

  
  
  
*

  
  
A lot of people turn up just to watch finals, which Vanessa realises only as she steps in to the hall, all dressed up and painted pretty and entirely unprepared. The audience is bigger. There's champagne being handed out to people here just to watch, and they're each individually wearing more money than Vanessa's ever had in her life. She searches out the girls competing, because them she knows, and that's safe ground.  
  
They're getting ready last minute, trading insults and sharp words but also helping hands with zips and make-up. Silky tugs Vanessa's dress to sit better, Vanessa untangles Silky's hair from her earring and thanks her quick. Brooke, when she finishes carefully placing all of Plastique's ornate hairpins, is off to the side talking to Yvie, who is practically climbing over the barrier between audience and stage to have a word.  
  
"Next year," Brooke is saying when Vanessa makes it over there, with Yvie climbed up precariously and halfway draped around Brooke's shoulders, "Just think about it. If it doesn't change you then you are going to to change it, and I-"  
  
"I'm just here for the show and to watch you be pretty," Yvie says. "Vanessa! Oh," she laughs low and it carries. "I want to see you two together."  
  
"Wait five minutes and you will." Vanessa promises, "unless I run. I'm thinking about it."  
  
Both Brooke and Yvie make sympathetic noises, in unison, then glare at each other without any heat at all. It's a nice moment, and ruined by an announcement over loudspeaker.  
  
Time is up, and they all walk out in pairs to the orchestral motif for that. Vanessa searches to find a comparison she understands, and decides that finals is to open floor what a bar fight is to a riot, and in exactly the opposite ways. It's quieter, there are fewer people involved, everything is ordered and everyone knows your name. The only thing they have in common is that it's worse.  
  
It's so much worse.  
  
"Hey," Brooke whispers, arm around her. "Would you like me to lie to you?"  
  
"Yes," Vanessa whispers back.  
  
"Everything is going to be easy, and there is no one in this room except you and me."  
  
"Liar."  
  
It's a lie that helps. If it's just her and Brooke in the room, Vanessa can dance a waltz, she can do that. Music starts up, and she's listened to what Brooke told her enough that she knows in seventeen-hundred-something this dance was indecent, and later on it was fashionable, and now it has rules. Between the two of them, she thinks they can make that legacy proud, because how she feels might be indecent but she hopes what she is delivering to the judges is both fashionable and inside the rules. Hopefully.  
  
The first round ends and there's a break, to grab water, change shoes, and some speeches which Vanessa ignores entirely. She runs right into one of the judges.  
  
"Hello," she says.  
  
"Vanessa, is it?" Vanessa is pretty sure they're not supposed to be talking until the competition ends. "You're doing very well, dear. I just wanted to tell you that. We're all watching you two. But him in particular," she glances over her shoulder to one of the audience. "White-knuckled, the entire time. I wanted you to know that, too."  
  
Oh. Okay.  
  
"Thank you, Miss West," Vanessa says. Following her glance, she recognises a young Du Pont and curses her luck. Even she knows that family name. "Thanks."  
  
Nina is a smart lady, and Vanessa suspects Brooke might be more to her than just another contestant, but A'keria already told her all of that.  
  
Vanessa is here to do her job.

  
  
*

  
  
  
The rules are very clear. Five minute warning, and if you're not on the floor by then, you're out. Vanessa knows this.  
  
Vanessa pushes her way through the crowd to get next to the young Du Pont, who is a nice looking boy, and very well dressed. Someone shoved manners down his throat at some point, because he reluctantly nods her way.  
  
"You're doing very well," he says, bored.  
  
"Thank you," Vanessa says, simpering a little just for show. "It's hard, obviously, with what- did you hear what happened?"  
  
She's really playing it up, but a flinch isn't a confession. "Did you hear about it? Her partner died."  
  
"I heard about it," he says, and whoever taught him manners never taught him to lie well. "He got shot."  
  
"It's so terrible. We should talk after," Vanessa tells him, badge flashed halfway and quick. It's on a chain around her neck, this outfit was too close for anything else. A'keria laughed herself silly about it. "Stick around."  
  
She walks away, but keeps an eye on her peripheral, a couple of priorities now competing. Five minute warning and you're out.  
  
Panic, please. Come on, do it. Panic.  
  
He panics, and he finishes his drink to quick and starts moving to leave the room. Vanessa is sorry this happened but not sorry about what she's going to do, and grabs for Brooke.  
  
"I need to go," she says.  
  
Silky makes an outraged noise. Scarlet looks confused. Ra'jah puts it in words.  
  
"If you're not out on the floor, bitch you're disqualified-"  
  
Brooke catches Ra'jah's hand, and holds it. "She knows the rules," Brooke says, absolutely impacable, and that's permission.  
  
Vanessa runs for the door, and her suspect. Brooke steps into the space and blocks Ra'jah and Silky, prevents them from trying to stop her going.  
  
On the way, Vanessa clips Yvie's shoulder. "Two more dances," she yells, and doesn't stop running to see if Yvie hears her or understands, but says it out loud anyway. "Brooke needs a partner."


	7. i'm only human

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Du Pont boy runs, and Vanessa kicks off her stupid heels and charges down in pursuit. A fair few people notice, that's no problem. It might help, if things go right.

  
  
  
The Du Pont boy runs, and Vanessa kicks off her stupid heels and charges down in pursuit. A fair few people notice, that's no problem. It might help, if things go right.  
  
She catches him in the hallway, he throws a punch and she throws a couple back, proves that sometimes it does matter what street you grew up on, the rules stick. In the scramble, her dress doesn't fare too well, but she gets the job done.  
  
Maybe he's frightened, maybe he's angry at being wrestled to the ground so easy by a girl. Either way, he should have waited for his family's lawyer before talking.  
  
"If he'd kept his mouth shut he'd have been fine-"  
  
Bingo.  
  
"You have the right to remain silent," Vanessa informs him. "I don't mind if you don't use it, but I am obliged to tell you that you do."  
  
He doesn't particularly use it, and says too much, in between cursing her out. Vanessa would have more sympathy if his story hadn't ended with a corpse. Hush money is one thing, a story ending all shakespeare with a body count is another. She doesn't have any time for that.  
  
They caused enough of a commotion a few uniforms are on scene before she has to call for them. One of them gives her a jacket, and she remembers, with mild amusement, she's still in delicate beaded little dress.  
  
"Anything else, ma'am?"  
  
"No," she says. "Take him in, Davenport is lead on this one." She has other priorities to deal with, and she knows A'keria will forgive her for passing the buck over. One day. Eventually.  
  


 

  
  
*

 

  
  
  
Vanessa doesn't regret what she chose to do, but she is curious. The girls put the pieces together for her, second hand news. Still. She would have liked to be there.  
  
Brooke walks out alone and straight-backed, ready to concede graceful like a professional does. Over in the corner, Yvie has one leg hooked over the barrier, a dress with a hemline far too high to be acceptable, and is calling out for her.  
  
Music starts, and it maybe takes Brooke four beats, at most, to make it over to Yvie. Another two, to catch her up in Brooke's arms, another to swing her out on to the floor.  
  
Eight or so beats is long enough for a penalty, but everyone with half a brain glances across at Nina and sees that her pen never touches paper, and does the smart thing. Nina is always fair, that's why she's liked. She knows the rules, but more than that, when the rules are grey and nothing is written she is the rules.  
  
Every single beat after that, they make. Maybe it isn't textbook to the form, but they've only ever danced together one way; spurring each other on, and just plain showing off. They have fun. Today is no different. The applause, a standing ovation only for them, that's nice too.  
  
That's what Vanessa misses out on, but everyone fills her in on it later.  
  


 

  
  
*

 

  
  
  
Vanessa finds Brooke in her dressing room, half-dressed and shaking out her hair from where it was tied back tight. Yvie is there too, and apparently enjoying the crown by shoving as much of it as she can into her mouth.  
  
"Look at this," she says, when she spots Vanessa. "This shit is real. Bite it, it's actual metal."  
  
Vanessa doesn't respond, too distracted by Brooke, who noticed her few seconds after Yvie did and is utterly still, looking at her like the only thing in the world that matters is whatever comes out of Vanessa's mouth next.  
  
"I got him," Vanessa says. "And I do think he did it."  
  
Brooke drops, a puppet with all her strings cut.  
  
Vanessa, who has context, was not expecting that. Yvie, who has none, obviously wasn't either, and is extremely alarmed. They both move to Brooke immediately, and Brooke leans in to any touch that's offered blindly and therefore ends up halfway in the arms of both of them.  
  
"Jesus," Yvie says, hugging her, "are you dying?" She's glaring like she's trying to decide between calling an ambulance or punching Vanessa first and asking questions later.  
  
"Shut up," Brooke manages, in the gaps between sobs when she can breathe enough to talk. "I'm crying." Vanessa, who is also holding her, can feel that she's shaking. But also, she's Brooke. "I'm human," she says, as wryly as anyone can in between sobs. "I can cry."  
  
"I think I got who killed him," Vanessa promises, because it's true and also because she doesn't know what else to say. "And I will do everything in the world to try and make sure he pays for it."  
  
Yvie blinks in understanding, and at some point she leaves.  
  
Vanessa has Brooke held close, the floodgates are open and there's a crown over there on the floor which everyone has forgotten about. She's got Brooke held close, her face buried against Vanessa's stupid mess of a torn dress. Vanessa likes to think she's got a pretty good sense of her own strengths and weaknesses, she knows who she is. Stoic isn't it. But she imagines that stoic must be exhausting, and she wishes she could have done something earlier to let Brooke know she was safe enough to cry.  
  
At some point Yvie leaves them alone, but Vanessa couldn't for the life of her tell you when. She's got Brooke in her arms, it's distracting.  
  
This is the kind of moment that welcomes revelation, so Vanessa holds on to Brooke and also acknowledges the next step. It's distracting, because Brooke, in all her strength and stoicism, and right now crying into Vanessa's dress, that's what she wants. This is Vanessa, being mundane and stupidly human, looking at Brooke and seeing something she wants.  
  
She'll ask the question when Brooke isn't on the edge of breaking, but it's good to know that, and have it planned.  
  
  
  
  



	8. it can only make me stronger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brooke cries her heart out caged in Vanessa's arms, and that's not even an exaggeration. Vanessa doesn't know if Brooke is crying for a lost friend, for an answer, or for the doubt and fear being over. Maybe all of them.
> 
> Also, she's Brooke.
> 
> "I'm sorry," Brooke says, in between gasping to breathe. "I made a mess of your gown."
> 
> "I really don't give a fuck," Vanessa promises.

 

  
  
Brooke cries her heart out caged in Vanessa's arms, and that's not even an exaggeration. Vanessa doesn't know if Brooke is crying for a lost friend, for an answer, or for the doubt and fear being over. Maybe all of them.  
  
Also, she's Brooke.  
  
"I'm sorry," Brooke says, in between gasping to breathe. "I made a mess of your gown."  
  
"I really don't give a fuck," Vanessa promises.  
  
"I don't know how to thank you," Brooke says, scrubbing the tears from her face. "But tell me how to start and I'll do it."  
  
"I was just doing my job," Vanessa says, holding Brooke close, and safe. For now, that's all that matters. "I don't need anything from you."  
  
It's true, but not the whole story.

  
  
  
*

  
  
  
The finish is the hardest part to get right. Brooke is a good teacher, she hammered that one home early. Everyone knows it's going to end, so how you finish the dance matters. It's got to come natural, you can't think about it too much. But it's what they'll remember.  
  
Everyone who didn't see her run off that dance floor has read about the arrest in the morning paper. Everyone knows, now, that it's going to end.  
  
The finish is the hardest part to get right.  
  
It's that much harder because honestly, she loved it, and she loved all of them too.

  
  
  
*

  
  
  
On more equal terms, later when Brooke can breathe, they have a more equal conversation. The crown has been put up somewhere high, packed away safe for if Yvie comes asking for it.  
  
"Can I ask one thing?" Vanessa says.  
  
"Anything," Brooke tells her, calm, actually meaning it.  
  
"You told me about him, you didn't need to say-" Vanessa stops, unsure how to say this politely.  
  
"His secret was in my keeping and I let it go, it would hardly be fair to keep my own."  
  
"You're impossible," Vanessa informs her.  
  
"So I have been told," Brooke says, "if I have ever overstepped-"  
  
"Never. It was infuriating that you didn't." Vanessa is trying, for once, to be brave. "I like dancing with you and I like arguing with you and I like you. I want the whole thing. I don't care if it's allowed or not."  
  
Brooke kisses her, at the corner of her mouth first, careful, then for real.  
  
"Am I overstepping?" she asks soft.  
  
Vanessa thinks about it. "No," she says, kissing back thoroughly. "Nope."  
  
If nothing else, Vanessa knows what she wants.  


  
*

  
  
  
Nina has known Brooke for seven years, but they like to round it to the nearest convenient decade, it sounds better that way.  
  
They see each other in the hall, and Brooke smiles bright, climbs into Nina's arms like she's a goddamn playground that Brooke has only just noticed is there.  
  
All is right in the world, or at least all is right in the world according to Nina West.  
  


  
*

 

  
  
"It's not going to be as fun as this year, though," Yvie says, her and Brooke out at a cafe, sipping on coffee that Brooke paid for.  
  
"I hope not, they call that homicide and it's inconvenient," Brooke says calm. "Come audition anyway."  
  
"I could beat you."  
  
"I know," Brooke tells her, their hands held close. "That's what I like about it."  
  
"You're impossible."  
  
"I've heard that before," Brooke says, "but coming from you, I'll take the compliment."

  
  
*

  
  
  
Brooke knows who she is and is enough of a grown-up to know the walls she puts up are short-term going to keep her safe and long-term going to leave her alone. She knows all of that. What she does not know, nor expects, is that some people like her regardless, and when the news plays out in public about what happened and what she's endured, there are a lot of flowers.  
  
"Jesus," she says, moving a few bunches aside. "Did I die and no one told me?"  
  
"Take the flowers," Silky says forceful.  
  
"I don't know," Ra'jah adds, "you're looking good, but if there's a will I want the crown."  
  
"Duly noted," Brooke tells her, solemn. "I'll keep it in mind."  
  
Plastique, the angel that she is, just throws her arms around her.  
  
"I love you," she says, no caveats attached.  
  
"Never say that out loud," Brooke tells her instinctively, "but I love you too."  
  
They're all crazy people, and fascinating too. The finish really is the hardest part to get right.  
  
Vanessa lets them go quiet, appreciating the time she got to spend with them. She's only got one chance, and that is in Brooke's hands.  
  


  
*

  
  
  
Late at night, unexpected, the doorbell goes.  
  
Vanessa is in her nightgown, but answers the door.  
  
"I'm sorry, I never meant to interrupt." Even if Vanessa couldn't see clear who it is she'd have evidence nonetheless. In this if in nothing else, Brooke is predictable.  
  
Vanessa catches her before she goes.  
  
"Stop, what is it?"  
  
"I'm sorry," Brooke repeats, brave like Vanessa wishes she was. "I thought maybe you'd want to see me."  
  
"I do want to."  
  
"Well," Brooke says with a smile, "I like that answer, and to hell with everything else."  
  
She's brave, and given time, Vanessa can learn to be that too.  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
